


A Fair Play

by hibernate



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Community: femslashex, Enemies to Lovers, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5019943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hibernate/pseuds/hibernate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vivienne and Morrigan, finding common ground, or something better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fair Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RowynSN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowynSN/gifts).



1.

The messenger catches up with them as they are arriving at the Winter Palace. The letter itself is brief and impersonal, addressed to Madame de Fer and signed by Bastien's valet.

It is a disappointment, of course. A blow for the Inquisition – Vivienne has only little sway with the rest of the Council of Heralds – and a personal one as well. It also means there are a great many things to be done, items to be obtained and contacts to be called upon. Their task at Halamshiral is to stop an assassination attempt, but in truth these things matter very little. Orlais will be ruled by whoever plays the Game most successfully, and the Game is always played to the death. Gaspard is a buffoon, of course, his late wife the only one in possession of wit in that branch of the family; Celene is by far a more clever ruler, but if she can no longer foil such plots against her rule, perhaps she has let her skills slip.

Vivienne would not ordinarily leave the Inquisitor to her own, somewhat socially inept, devices in a place as precarious as the Winter Palace, but there are more pressing things at stake. The civil war has complicated matters, as such things are wont to do. It is with increasing disquiet that she comes to the conclusion that there are simply none left standing of the chevaliers in whom she had previously put her trust.

That is the state in which the witch finds her. 

Movements sleek, she exits the shadows and sidles closer in the otherwise empty foyer, a leer on her face. "Madame de Fer, is it?" she says, eerie eyes observing her with obvious intent. "Such a curious moniker. Celene never did tell me the origin of it."

The face is unfamiliar, but it is not difficult for Vivienne to guess. The woman is a mage – an apostate, of course – and though she wears a dress made of the finest materials, there is no mistaking what sort of creature she is: a snake, coiled to strike.

Tilting her head, Vivienne eyes her coolly. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

"'Tis understandable," the woman replies, the air of condescension around her growing thicker with every word she speaks. "You have been away from Court for quite some time. I am Morrigan, Arcane Adviser to the Empress."

"I had heard that Celene brought an apostate to Court. She always was amused by eccentrics."

"All mages are apostates now, are we not? Tell me, how are you finding your new freedom?"

Vivienne laughs, injecting it with just a _touch_ of disdain. "This idea of 'freedom' that certain people like to tout is little but an illusion, whether one is a mage or not."

"'Tis true," Morrigan says, "people do seem to enjoy limiting themselves."

That is hardly what Vivienne meant, but she sees little purpose in clarifying herself. 

"The Inquisition's exploits have amused the Court in the past few months," Morrigan continues. "I was particularly interested in your experiences at Adamant."

Vivienne narrows her eyes ever so slightly, a warning this mage will not fail to notice. "Maleficarum ought not to be the Inquisition's responsibility," she replies, "but with the Templar order all but gone, no one else was willing to deal with the Grey Wardens."

"Wardens are tedious creatures." Morrigan crosses her arms, but she does not quite manage to hide the interest in her eyes. "I was referring to the Inquisitor's journey into the Fade. Were you, perchance, one of the people who accompanied her?"

"I'm sure once you have spent more time at Court," Vivienne tells her, voice taking on a colder tone, "you will learn not to believe every rumor you hear."

Morrigan laughs, low and soft. "Good," she says, clearly amused. "I intended to exchange a few words with your Inquisitor, but you appear to be distracted by other matters. Redmoss is quite a potent poison – I would ask who has offended you so, but there are precious few here who have not earned such payment."

It should not surprise her that the woman has been eavesdropping. Vivienne does not enjoy being laughed at, nor does she wish for her private businesses to be meddled with, especially not by an apostate who is under the mistaken belief that there is a place for her at Court. "I'm afraid the Inquisitor is far too busy to entertain apostates."

The smirk on Morrigan's face is knowing. "And I suppose you are too busy to deliver her a message?"

"Quite right. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have little time for idle gossip."

 

2.

It is raining; an endless, miserable drizzle that has turned Skyhold cold and full of muddy footprints. 

Compared to the weeks of sunny warmth after the journey to Ghislain and back, Vivienne is grateful for the change. The weather had changed in perfect time for the funeral services; low-hanging clouds of endless grey had set the mood of the day, and then, when the service ran long with empty speeches, the skies finally opened and a heavy rain had ruined the clothes of those with insufficient foresight. Bastien would have enjoyed it immensely.

Once all the practical matters are sorted and settled, she starts to accompany the Inquisitor on her excursions again. It is a distraction, and a way to pass the time while the plans she has set in motion steadily move to their inevitable conclusion. In Skyhold, she finds other ways to distract herself.

Rain never lasts in Orlais, but in the high mountains where Skyhold lies, it lingers. The weather has dissuaded those with a choice in the matter from going outside, leaving the garden empty and abandoned. Vivienne takes her time picking out the herbs and flowers she requires, walking slowly as the water trickles down her neck and in under her clothes. Sheltered against the mountain wind, the garden is not cold, and the soil is rich. There is no shortage of greenery. 

She senses eyes on her only moments before Morrigan speaks. "Are you enjoying the rain, Madame Vivienne? The mud appears to have stained your robes."

Perched on the steps leading down to the garden, dressed in those strange clothes she has taken to wearing, she seems a wild thing, more like one of Leliana's birds than a woman. Vivienne has heard whispers that this Witch of the Wilds has the power to change her appearance… but, then, people say many foolish things.

"'Tis a curious thing, putting flowers in a vase and watching them wilt, when they would happily bloom for so much longer in the ground."

Vivienne looks down on the flowers in her hand, keeping her features still, composed. "These are hardly for decoration."

Tilting her head, Morrigan's eyes spark with sudden interest. "You dabble in alchemy," she says, the mocking tone in her voice almost gone.

"I assure you, I don't 'dabble' in anything."

"I, myself, have some skills in this area."

"Your 'skills', however acquired, are not necessary. I was taught by the very best, and I have studied the subject extensively."

Jumping smoothly from the steps, landing silently on the grass, Morrigan walks closer to where Vivienne is standing. "The Inquisitor informed me I should not antagonize you, because you are in mourning. 'Tis a silly thing to say. After all, who has not suffered a loss?"

It is not a secret, and there is no need for Morrigan to treat it as such, except as a bid to gain the upper-hand. Vivienne clenches her hand, the one holding her flowers, hidden from sight. "You need not concern yourself with it. The Inquisitor sometimes thinks with her shield and not her head."

"Such things are likely to get you killed eventually." Morrigan's golden eyes glow brighter for a moment. "I knew someone like her once, a fool with a bleeding heart. I heard her death was brutal."

"The Hero of Ferelden, I presume," Vivienne says. Leliana has not been particularly forthcoming about their shared history, but she has said enough, and Morrigan is hardly subtle. "I have heard the stories. You are not frequently mentioned in them."

Morrigan shrugs, and Vivienne cannot tell whether her indifference is real or not. "I cared for her, but she was stupid. I knew of a way to save her life, and she did not take it. I did not wish to stay and watch her fall, so I left. Leliana will never forgive it, but my presence would have changed nothing."

It explains a thing or two about Leliana's attitude towards the witch, not that any animosity wouldn’t be perfectly natural. As far as Vivienne can tell, Morrigan is a conceited, dangerous, and absolutely despicable person.

"So that is how you intend to act when the Inquisitor finds herself in trouble?" she remarks, unable to keep the sneer from her face. "Good to know."

"I have no patience for lost causes. Do not try to fool me that you feel differently."

"You truly are pitiful," Vivienne says, and takes her leave.

 

3.

Many things become clear in the Arbor Wilds, not the least certain things about Morrigan. She keeps herself apart while they travel, truly a Witch of the Wilds who disappears into the wilderness at will. It is only at the Temple of Mythal that she steps out from the shadows, showing her hand in more ways than one.

Since they tumbled out of the _eluvian_ in Skyhold, she has not attempted to hide her ire. 

A bird lands on the railing on Vivienne's balcony one evening, and Vivienne lifts her gaze from the letter she is drafting from her chaise-longue, glancing through the open doors, eyes narrowing at the sight of it. 

"You toy with dangerous magics, witch," she says, and looks down to her correspondence again.

At the Temple of Mythal, Vivienne witnessed Morrigan turning into a raven and betraying the Inquisitor's trust to serve her own purposes, as Vivienne had always known she would. Still, once their impulsive little Cadash had made up her mind to drink from the Well of Sorrows herself, heeding Vivienne's advice for once, Morrigan had sulked like a child, but stepped aside without argument. Vivienne had expected differently.

Out on the balcony, Morrigan transforms in the same way she did at the Temple, changing her form in a puff of purple smoke, and where the bird had sat perched, Morrigan now stands, balancing on the railing. The charge of magic in the air raises goosebumps along Vivienne's arms.

Morrigan smiles at her, sharp like a predator. "Did they not teach you such things in your feeble-minded Circles? How shocking."

"Circles are the center of magical learning," Vivienne replies, keeping her eyes on her letter. "You'd be surprised at what knowledge can be found there."

"I knew a Circle mage once. A skilled healer, but one who had put so many limitations on her power that she cast her spells with but a fraction of her potential. She did not much care for me."

"Truly, I cannot imagine why."

Jumping down onto the balcony, Morrigan saunters up to the open doors, leaning against the frame. "'Twas simply the truth," she says, crossing her arms. "Is that not the purpose of your towers? Draw a circle around yourself and never stray across. Safety, but at what price?"

"Yes, unbound magic has worked out so very well for everyone, historically. You want freedom, but at what price? Tell me, how much death is a fair payment?"

"For freedom? No price is too high."

With a small gesture of her hand, Morrigan draws fire from the air, lighting a candle on the table in front of Vivienne. Sending it a long glance, Vivienne raises her hand and snuffs it out, letting the fire disperse. "No one is truly free, witch. Only fools believe themselves to be."

Morrigan cocks her head, smirking, and Vivienne can sense the magic still suffusing her. There is much power in her; Vivienne knows the magnitude of her own abilities, but having seen Morrigan use her magic in battle, she cannot say with any certainty which of them is the stronger one. "If you are of a mind," Morrigan says, "I will show you how to change your shape into another's. 'Tis not difficult, if there is someone to show the way." 

Vivienne huffs a laugh at the idea. Morrigan may be strong, but there is no doubt in her mind of who among them is in possession of the greater wit. "I have no interest in your particular brand of undisciplined magic."

"There are no Circles left to disapprove, and 'tis not blood magic, if such things concern you. You would enjoy the quick feet of a fox, or the wind lifting you high as you take flight."

"I doubt you would know what I do, and do not, enjoy," Vivienne says, letting the half-written letter lie on the table. The ink left a stain, and she will have to start over. "Do you have nothing better to do than bother me?"

"As it happens, I do not. The Inquisitor does not wish to hear my advice, and Leliana does not speak to me at all."

There is a trace of frustration in Morrigan's voice; a better player of the Game would not let such things slip, but perhaps, having returned from the Arbor Wilds, Morrigan has ceased trying. She had deferred to the Inquisitor's decision and stepped aside by the Well of Sorrows, when it would not have been out of the realm of possibility for her to claim it for herself. Reassessing one's opinions is not the easiest task.

Thoughtfully, Vivienne bends forward, picking up the bottle of wine from the table and filling the second glass on the table. "I am pleased the Inquisitor drank from the Well herself. I would not trust someone like you with such power."

"You have not made those feelings a secret."

"Nevertheless, I understand disappointment." Standing, Vivienne closes the distance between them, extending the glass of wine in Morrigan's direction. "Lord Pavus was supposed to join me this evening, but it seems he received a more appealing offer. Perhaps his share of this delectable vintage might balm your misfortunes."

Morrigan takes a step back, turning her nose up. "I suppose you expect to poison me. How tiresome."

The idea is amusing; Vivienne takes a step closer so that she may watch Morrigan retreat another step. "I hardly need to stoop to poisoning if I wish to be rid of someone."

"And I should take your word for it?"

"You will just have to trust me to play fair, I suppose."

Morrigan huffs, pulling herself up on the railing and jumping off in one smooth movement. A burst of magic follows her, as the woman disappears and a bird flies off into the night. Left alone on the balcony in the dark, Vivienne does not bother to hide her smile.

 

4\. 

The Inquisitor does not invite Vivienne along to the Altar of Mythal, nor does she invite Morrigan – which does not stop her from going, apparently. When Morrigan does not appear in the garden for several days, it is hardly difficult to put the pieces of the puzzle together. When they all return, some days later, Vivienne cannot interpret the Inquisitor's face. Morrigan, on the other hand, is far easier to read. 

If asked nicely enough, Josephine is not unwilling to lend Vivienne the reports she has composed with the Inquisitor, detailing her expeditions. Josephine is a gift of efficiency, strategy and common sense, and she also has excellent taste in tea. The events at the Altar of Mythal are documented in Josephine's neat script, ensuring pertinent research and attention to detail. Sitting on the chaise-longue with the balcony doors open, Vivienne reads it twice before she is interrupted by the sound of wings.

There is no need to look up; Vivienne senses more than she hears Morrigan transform, and then the soft steps of her boots.

"Take your boots off, if you mean to come inside," Vivienne says. "I will not have mud drawn onto the mat."

Morrigan's boots stay firmly on as she stalks right in, foregoing her usual fluent poise. It's the sort of childish petulance Vivienne would expect from Sera, not from someone who has enjoyed the favor of the Empress.

"I understand you've kept busy," Vivienne tells her, putting Josephine's report down. Morrigan glances at it, several emotions flitting across her face before she settles on a pout.

"If you were curious about what transpired at the Altar of Mythal," she says, crossing her arms, "'twould have been better to ask me directly.”

"I don't consider anything that comes out of your mouth particularly trustworthy." 

Vivienne gets to her feet and walks past Morrigan out onto the balcony. It is only barely raining; a gentle sprinkle that is cool on her face. It takes but a moment for the witch and her muddy boots to follow her out. "More's the pity," Morrigan says, with a shrug. "I find lies tiresome."

"Yes, of course I would take your word for that."

Morrigan only huffs in response, and then, giving her surroundings a disparaging look, she changes the topic. "Why do you spend so much time here? 'Tis hardly for the view."

"I appreciate the solitude," Vivienne replies. Morrigan does not seem to understand the implication.

"Apparently so," she says, instead. "'Twould seem that you are always on your own. Celene described you quite differently."

It raises her hackles, the way it always does when Morrigan implies that Vivienne has been the topic of conversation between herself and Celene. "This is not the Court," she says, keeping her voice as even as her face, "and I have better things to do than waste time at the tavern playing cards."

"Ah, yes, card games." The face Morrigan makes is somewhat disgusted. "The Inquisitor invited me to come with her to the tavern for a game of something called Wicked Grace. After learning of Mother, I believe she pities me."

"I am not sure being invited to such a thing ought to be considered pity or punishment."

"Of that, we are in agreement. I informed her that I would rather play a game of knucklebones with a nug."

"Colorful, but not inaccurate."

Pausing, Morrigan looks away, gaze traveling over the courtyard. "Cassandra was there at the time," she says, and in the distance Vivienne can hear the sound of steel on steel. "I almost agreed, simply so I could see the look on her face. She enjoys keeping a tight hold on her grudges, does she not? She does not much approve of my presence."

"Of course she doesn't, darling," Vivienne says with a laugh. "She's an honest, kind-hearted, loyal woman. Everything you are not."

"Those are not words I would use to describe you either," Morrigan replies, eyes glimmering golden in the rain as she tilts her head. "Curious that she has not yet noticed."

Even a stab in the dark might strike an unarmed point. The clumsiness of the delivery does not mean it's undeserving of retaliation. "Her opinion of me is irrelevant," Vivienne says, as there is little point in denying Morrigan's words. "She may be our next Divine; the good she would do in such a position is what matters. Unlike your friend Leliana, who would drag the world into chaos to have her way, should she sit on the Sunburst Throne."

It's obvious that the subtle emphasis Vivienne puts on the word _friend_ does not go unnoticed by Morrigan. Vivienne's face is always schooled, whether she wears a mask or not, but she allows herself the luxury of a triumphant smirk. Morrigan may have tricked her way into Celene's graces, but she has much to learn yet. 

"She is hardly my 'friend'," Morrigan says. It is, by all accounts, an understatement.

"That much is obvious." She would twist the knife deeper, would exploit this weakness for all that it is worth, but she finds herself hesitating. "One does wonder why you are still here," she says instead, scrutinizing Morrigan's face. "You didn't drink from the Well, and there is nothing to keep you here. Are you bored, witch? Or does the company of other birds not satisfy your loneliness?"

"I have been alone for a very long time. If it did not suit me, I would have made different choices."

"As I'm sure you are aware, I don't particularly trust you, but if you intend to linger in Skyhold, your magic might be considered an asset. Maker knows the Inquisitor is going to need all the help she can get if she intends to battle Corypheus with a magical, elven dragon."

"You would hardly be here if you did not believe in her success. We are not so different, you and I, Madame de Fer, and your lack of trust reflects only on yourself."

Vivienne knows better than to dignify such nonsense with a response, though the attempt to provoke is rather adorable. Perhaps, with time, Morrigan will learn this art; Vivienne almost looks forward to the day. Morrigan takes a step closer, chin lowering ever so slightly as her eyes take on a new intensity, and Vivienne can sense her tactics changing. 

"Have you chosen an animal form yet?" she asks. "'Tis best if one's first shape is an animal whose soul is kin to yours. I changed into a spider first. Mother did not care for them, and at the time, I enjoyed antagonizing her."

"You mother, the infamous Witch of the Wilds, who, according to our dear Inquisitor, is also apparently some sort of elven god."

"Needless to say, my disappointment that the Inquisitor insisted on drinking from the Well of Sorrows in my stead has lessened somewhat."

Vivienne studies her, letting a smirk tug at her lips. "You enjoyed being a spider, no doubt."

"I did," Morrigan says, as if she does not understand the implied insult. "One can learn a great many things, experiencing the world from a different perspective."

She is very close, enough that Vivienne can sense how the Veil wraps around her. There is a shift in the air, one that does not disinterest her. Some things ought to be nipped in the bud, but some paths can yield unexpected results if you follow them.

Morrigan leans up, stretching to touch her lips lightly to Vivienne's, and Vivienne – lets her.

"You _are_ lonely," Morrigan says when they part, a self-satisfied smirk growing on her lips. She is a cunning one, that has always been clear, in possession of a certain potential, but filled to the brim with pride. Vivienne knows a thing or two about that.

Putting her hand on Morrigan's cheek briefly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, Vivienne smiles. "Not as lonely as you, my dear."

 

5.

The weather gets warmer by the day, but the rain seems unwilling to release its grasp on the mountains. An exceptionally heavy downpour settles over Skyhold one afternoon, causing a rather substantial flood in the cellar, as well as a minor one on Vivienne's balcony. Her rooms are chilly in the rain, like most of Skyhold, but she leaves one of her windows open a crack, letting in the wind and a splattering of rain drops. A puddle quickly forms on the floor, under the window.

In her arm-chair, Vivienne hears a faint flap of wings and a scratching noise from the window.

"You are not on your balcony," Morrigan says, after changing her form and sliding the window open. She's crouched on the sill, dripping in the rain.

"The weather did not invite it," Vivienne replies, looking up from her book. "You are letting the rain in."

Slipping inside smoothly, Morrigan closes the window behind her. Vivienne sends a sharp glare in the direction of Morrigan's muddy feet, and this time, she bends down with a smirk – not to remove them, but to cast some manner of quietly murmured spell that Vivienne is not familiar with, leaving her boots dry and clean. She looks inordinately smug about it as she walks closer, sitting down on the other arm-chair. Vivienne, in a controlled and entirely deliberate manner, puts down her book on the table between them.

Morrigan, of course, picks it up. "' _A Study of the Fifth Blight_ '?" she says, eyebrows rising and a pout forming on her lips as she flips through the pages. "Such wearisome tripe."

"I'm sure it's perfectly well-researched."

"The only ones who would truly know about the Fifth Blight are either dead, forgotten, or, well – _Alistair_."

"Have your tea," Vivienne says, touching the cup with her hand and sending a burst of heat into it, "before it grows bitter."

No price could be put on the consternation coloring Morrigan's face right then. She seems to consider herself a cat on a mouse hunt, but she is mistaken if she thinks Vivienne is the prey in any chase. There is an inevitable conclusion to this that is not unpleasant.

"It is no wonder Celene found you so irresistible," she says. "You have access to great power, and you know well how to utilize your skills. But you really must learn to control your face if you mean to spend time at Court."

Lips pressed together, Morrigan huffs. "'Tis amusing that you would attempt advice, when I was the one who replaced you."

"Circumstances brought me away from Court. It was hardly shrewdness that put you in the position I left vacant."

"Oh? That game Orlesians are so fond of playing. What is it if not taking advantage of circumstance?"

Standing, Vivienne takes a step closer, looming over Morrigan. Vivienne puts her fingers on Morrigan's chin, tilting her head up. The fire in her eyes burns all the brighter.

"Any fool can take advantage of a favorable situation," Vivienne says. "When you've learned to create such circumstances yourself, perhaps then you will be in no more need of advice."

Keeping a hold of her chin, Vivienne leans forward to put her mouth on Morrigan's, claiming her lips in a searing kiss. It is not rough, of course, but it makes her point quite clearly. When they part, Morrigan smirks. She may prefer to take the shape of a bird, but there is an air about her that reminds Vivienne more of a wildcat, sly and clever with no small amount of disdain. It is Morrigan who initiates the next kiss; lips and then the scrape of teeth.

"I will not tolerate any visible marks," Vivienne says, pressing her fingers harder into Morrigan's chin in warning.

"A pity. You, on the other hand, are welcome to make any kind of mark you wish."

There's a scratch in Morrigan's voice that was not there before. Vivienne raises an eyebrow, unable to hide a certain smugness in her voice. "I am not in the habit of manhandling."

Vivienne straightens up, and Morrigan looks up at her, hands clenched around the armrests. She is rather fetching like that, bright-eyed and compliant. Crossing the room, Vivienne unbuckles her belt, and unties the lacing holding her robes together. There is nothing to gain from this, of course, but all the work she's put in might finally be coming to fruition and she has earned this indulgence. Sitting down on the bed, she opens the robes, revealing the corset underneath.

Morrigan rises from the chair, a defiant look in her eyes. "You assume I have an interest."

"You are not particularly good at hiding it. Nevertheless, there is a door and a window at your disposal, should your interest wane."

Morrigan does not leave, of course, though for a moment, the stubborn set of her jaw makes Vivienne wonder if she will, if only to prove her point. She finds herself quite disappointed by the notion, and when the tension from Morrigan's shoulders slip away, her decision made, she allows herself a small smile. Morrigan steps closer, positioning herself between Vivienne's spread knees, hands falling to rest just above them. 

"I certainly do not miss the clothes one is expected to wear at Court," she says, thumbs moving across the fabric of Vivienne's leggings. "You must enjoy torturing yourselves."

"It is the armor of the Court," she says, and considers a future where she will wear a different armor. She will miss her robes dearly when she exchanges them for a different set, but such concessions are but small prices to pay. "I wouldn't expect someone with your... unique taste for the scant and flimsy to understand."

Morrigan shrugs, sliding one of Vivienne's boots off. "My clothes are comfortable, and I do not require layers to stay warm. 'Tis simple enough to draw the warmth from the air, even in winter. You cannot tell me you do not do the same; I sensed it in the Arbor Wilds. The evening was cold and you sat too far from the fire."

Lifting her other leg, Vivienne allows Morrigan to divest her of that boot as well. "I am well aware of how much you enjoy hearing your own voice, but that enjoyment is not universal. Surely you can think of better ways to use your mouth."

Vivienne loosens the fastenings on her leggings. Morrigan watches her fingers work, lips parting ever so slightly. "Very well," she says, but she takes her time tugging Vivienne's pants down, and off. 

Vivienne does not much enjoy being _teased_ , at least not by someone like Morrigan, but she's hardly going to give Morrigan the satisfaction of knowing. She sighs instead, making a show of it. "If you intend to maintain this pace, you might as well fetch me _A Study of the Fifth Blight_ so I may while away the time."

There is a twitch on Morrigan's face at the mention of the book, a tug on Vivienne's leg, and she is not so pliant anymore. Vivienne might very well prefer it that way. Her leggings are dropped unceremoniously on the floor, no doubt on purpose, as if such a thing would disturb her. Leaning back on her elbows, Vivienne waits as Morrigan steps between her legs again, leaning forward and planting her hands on the bed, on either side of Vivienne's naked hips.

Morrigan kisses her, and Vivienne can feel the smirk against her lips. That will hardly do; putting a hand on Morrigan's neck, Vivienne asserts control over Morrigan's mouth until she falters, breath coming quicker in warm bursts from her nose and mouth. Morrigan pulls back, lips red and wet, pink cheeks a stark contrast against her pale skin. A hand finds the junction between her hip and thigh, and Vivienne does not miss the way Morrigan shifts her weight, squirming her hips ever so slightly.

She can feel the vibration of magic in the air moments before Morrigan makes use of it, but she could not prepare for the tickling sensation of sparks traveling from Morrigan's hand on her hip to settle between her thighs, erupting in a burst of magic. For a brief moment, she cannot draw a breath.

Vivienne does not enjoy surprises. Grabbing Morrigan's wrist, she presses her nails into her skin. "There is no excuse for _careless_ use of magic."

"Twas not careless," Morrigan replies, "and you enjoyed it."

"That is hardly the point."

"Very well. 'Tis your body and I will please it however you wish."

"Your mouth will do, then." 

If it comes out sounding like a challenge… well, so be it. Morrigan certainly seems to interpret it as one. "Did you think me too proud to get on my knees for you?" she asks, eyes sparking with a certain delight. "I can be flexible when I wish it, unlike you, Madame de Fer."

Morrigan knows nothing of Vivienne's flexibility, but she lets the comment slide when Morrigan does indeed lower herself to her knees, hands spreading Vivienne's legs wider.

“I saw your spellcasting in the Arbor Wilds," Morrigan adds, putting her mouth on Vivienne's thigh in a kiss that ends with sharp teeth. "Perfect stance, perfect form. ’Tis not a dance, though you treat it as such."

Lying back, Vivienne drapes one leg over Morrigan's shoulder and braces the other foot on the edge of the bed. Goosebumps form along Morrigan's naked arms, as she slides them under Vivienne's legs, inching closer, until Vivienne can feel the intimate heat of her breath. "I see no point in doing anything with less than perfection," Vivienne says, "though it is far more dangerous than a dance."

"Surely that would depend on who you choose to dance with?"

"Touché."

For a little while, Morrigan stops talking, using her mouth for a better purpose, one Vivienne enjoys rather thoroughly. It, of course, does not last. Looking up from between Vivienne's legs, altogether far too soon, Morrigan gives her a thoughtful glance. "One does wonder what someone like yourself might be capable of, without the needless restrictions imposed on you by your Circle."

"I'd most likely be dead, darling," Vivienne replies, taking the opportunity to stretch her legs out. "Restrictions are necessary for anyone who wishes to remain in control."

Morrigan wipes her mouth delicately with her hand, licking her wet lips. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained. They must chafe, the chains you've put yourself in."

"There are more important things than comfort."

"'Tis something we agree on, finally. Power requires sacrifice."

"Yes, as well as vigilance and attention to detail." Vivienne idly puts a hand on her own breast, fingers skidding across the fabric of her corset. "Your technique, for instance, is sloppy."

"On the contrary," Morrigan says, as her gaze follows the path of Vivienne's hand. “'Tis yours that is rigid and inflexible."

"You are remarkably confident for someone who has been wrong more often than right in the past few weeks."

"I am wrong, sometimes. I do not let my pride stand in the way of admitting that. I could not say the same for you."

Raising an eyebrow, Vivienne does not dignify that with a response. “As I said," she tells her instead, "there are a great many areas where your technique needs improving. I have not even seen you _attempt_ to cast a barrier."

"Perhaps I shall make an effort to learn."

"Perhaps I shall make an effort to offer you further guidance on the matter."

"Perhaps an exchange of sorts could be made. Your advice traded for mine. A fair payment."

One of Morrigan's hands come up to rest on Vivienne's hip. The other… well, that part is rather obvious, by the hitch in her breath. Vivienne doesn't particularly mind; the idea of Morrigan's hand under that leather abomination that acts as a skirt is not an unpleasant thought, as long as Morrigan does not forget what's important. " _Perhaps_ you'd care to finish the task at hand first," she says, nudging her foot against Morrigan's back.

The arrogant gleam in Morrigan's eyes ought probably to be corrected, but, then, she was performing rather well – that is to say, until she stopped. There would be little point in denying it when Morrigan can plainly tell by the slickness between her thighs that she's doing a passable job. It would appear that Morrigan is at her most agreeable with her head between Vivienne's legs, and if that is to be a pattern, she does not necessarily mind repeating it. A fair play, as it were.

For some time after that, there are no words spoken at all, to great gain for everyone; certainly for Vivienne.


End file.
